Notes, Warnings etc
I'm taking liberties with Námo here. I tried working the scene with other people but without someone physically speaking to Dídauar it wasn't working. Námo became the next choice and he was more than willing to fill the role.
Chapter Twenty-One - Don't Go Where I Can't Follow
The night following the Battle of Pelennor Fields was not filled with the joyous cheers of celebrating soldiers and civilians but was instead deathly quiet. No one seemed to be able to stir even a smile for they all knew someone who had been killed or severely wounded in the fighting. News had quickly spread that Denethor was dead and that his son lay in the Houses of Healing fighting for his life. Further news of the death of Théoden and Halbarad had also spread and soon, even the hardest of hearts was moved to sorrow by the thick cloud of grief and anguish that hung over the City and beyond its boundaries to the Dúnedain and Rohirric camps. The women and children who still remained on the first and second levels of the City had ventured out to the camps baring what food and clothing they could spare to the beleaguered warriors who were not their own. It wasn't much, but none complained and each gift was greatly accepted. Even the simple sight of the women and children was enough to raise a weak smile. This is what they had been fighting to protect and no loss was in vein if it meant even a single spark of innocence remained in the world. But, as noble as the deaths of their leaders may have been, it did not make them any easier to bare and when it became clear that Fate had not stopped tormenting the Dúnedain, their grief ran deeper.
Largely thanks to Ioreth, the medicine women who had twittered about the return of the King, news had filtered down the levels that Aragorn had managed to pull Faramir, Éowyn and Merry back from the brink. The Rohirrim were at first shocked that Éowyn was actually in Minas Tirith, but were more than relieved that she was safe. They were equally joyous that the young Hobbit esquire – who had managed to endear himself to some of the more battle hardened Rohirrim – was also found alive, even if he wasn't supposed to be there either. However, despite the joyful tidings, the news that Dídauar and Arahael were still clinging to life by the thinnest of threads and that Dídauar in particular was not responding to the calls of either her twin or Elven foster-brother, hit the Dúnedain hard. Matters were not helped when Nemír reappeared cradling Culas tightly to him, the elder man looking haggard and distressed. Already surrounded by grief and death, the Dúnedain could not help but think that the youngest of their party had also made his last journey.
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"Sauron has already won if the men continue to despair!" exclaimed Imrahil as he witnessed one depressed face after another and felt the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded the City press down on him.
"You would not allow your men to grieve for their fallen?" asked Elladan as he approached. Imrahil turned, a little startled at having audience to his personal musings.
"Grieving for comrades-in-arms I cannot prevent but some of these people look ready to give up! They will be no use if Sauron's troops attack again or if we decide to march towards Mordor," replied the Dol Amroth ruler recovering himself quickly.
"It is not simply comrades-in-arms that they grieve for," chided the Elf. "And their grief is best relieved through tears and acts of despair rather than forced into submission. I have seen what grief that is turned inwards can do to others; it turns to hate, slowly eats away like a canker and that is a far more deadly weapon to Sauron than any number of tears."
"I never thought I would see the day when an Elf was explaining how to grieve for the dead!" said Imrahil, the oddity of such an occurrence causing him to smile slightly.
"Just because we have the gift of immortality does not mean we cannot die," said Elladan. "And while there is little Elven blood spilt on this day, I too grieve for fallen kin."
"The Dúnedain," realised Imrahil. "I am sorry, I was presumptuous and……" Elladan held up a hand to stem the flow of speech.
"It is doubtful that any will register the losses suffered by others, the deaths within their own numbers being foremost in their minds this night," said the Elf.
"How go things in the Houses?" asked Imrahil.
"The healers are finally managing to cope with what is demanded. Your nephew, along with the Lady Éowyn and the Halfling, are now safely on the road to recovery," replied Elladan.
"And your kin?" asked Imrahil gently, seeing that the Elf was somewhat reluctant to speak of either set of twins.
"Tarcil and Arahael have a long road ahead of them but they should make a full recovery given the right support. Estel and Kalya are another matter," replied Elladan with a sigh. "I fear if Kalya does not respond soon, Estel will slip into despair and we will lose them both."
"You speak as though from prior experience," said Imrahil.
"I do," said Elladan. "But the details of which are not mine to share. However, despite their differences and extended periods of separation within recent years, Estel and Kalya share a close bond that I fear not even death will break."
"Then let us hope that the Valar have taken their share of our people this day," said Imrahil. Elladan nodded, casting his eyes across the Fields before turning his gaze to the north-western sky.
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"What is so urgent that I have to be dragged away from the side of a patient who is bleeding faster than we can patch them up?" demanded Elrohir as he marched into the room behind a terrified looking messenger boy. The child went straight to the side of Pippin and the Hobbit wrapped his arms around him. The boy being at least five foot tall and Pippin only three foot eight, the scene would have been comical but for the situation.
"Kalya," whispered Aragorn from his position on the floor. Elrohir's eyes flashed with a sudden pain and went to his knees beside Aragorn.
'Don't you dare tell me she is dead!' hissed the Elf. Aragorn turned blurred eyes to the younger of his foster-brothers.
'She's giving up,' he said quietly. 'She woke briefly and asked me to let her go.'
'She woke up?' Elrohir echoed. Aragorn nodded.
'But she has stopped listening,' he murmured. 'Please Elrohir. Bring her back.'
'Don't you think I have tried!' snapped Elrohir.
'She heeded to me when we thought she was beyond hope. Maybe this time you can pull her from the darkness?' said Aragorn, and Elrohir found that he was unable to deny the hopeful glint that shone in his foster-brother's eye.
'I will try,' he said. 'But I bid you stay lest I fail.'
For the next half-an-hour Elrohir knelt by Dídauar's beside, begging with the human and beseeching with the Valar for her to remain and awaken. Around them, the medicine women and physicians suggested numerous infusions and foul smelling objects which had been "successful in rousing numerous unconscious patients". As Elladan calmly explained, Dídauar had done more than simply faint, but that didn't stop such remedies being suggested. Finally, Elrohir turned and placed Dídauar's hand back in Aragorn's.
'I have done all I can,' he said. 'It is the love of her twin that she needs now. Believe it or not, you and she are bound tighter than we will ever be.'
Aragorn looked distressed but accepted the Elf's decision. Gripping Dídauar's hand in his once more, Aragorn made himself comfortable on the bed and mindful of her injured shoulder, curled around Dídauar as though seeking to protect her from the rest of the world. Elrohir smiled gently, though most of the sentiment failed to reach his eyes and, kissing both twins lightly on the forehead, he left the pair in the hands of the Valar.
Aragorn tightened his grip about Dídauar and rested his forehead against her shoulder blade. He did not speak, words having long become redundant and simply let the Valar make the final decision.
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It is not your time, child of Middle-Earth! whispered a voice, or was it a mixture of voices, in the darkness.
"It is," replied Dídauar. "My day of judgement has come."
No! You are still needed! said the voices. Your people still remain in darkness. They need you to help them through.
"They have other warriors," replied Dídauar as she sat down. "They still have their Chief."
Not everything can be answered with the raising of a sword, said a male voice that was more definable than any of the others. Why don't you heed the voices of the dark? This is not the Dídauar of Eriador that I have watched grow.
"Who are you?" demanded Dídauar, looking around for the speaker.
I am the ruler of the Halls to which you demand entrance, replied the voice and a deep brown haired being appeared before her. Námo I am called by some. I ask again, why don't you heed the voices of the dark?
"My time on Arda has come to an end," answered Dídauar.
If that were the case we would not be having this conversation. You say there are others to help your people, who are they?
"The twins," replied Dídauar, and an edge of pride entered her voice. "Tarcil and Arahael will lead them well and Estel is there to help them should they need it."
Ah, I have heard much about the sons of Halbarad, but they are still young and not yet ready for such a burden. Tell me daughter of Arathorn, how will they fair without you there to help them?
"They will find a way. They are not completely alone and I am just a single player on a very large game board," replied Dídauar.
Yet you hold the hearts of so many in your hands, replied Námo. Not least that of the Galadhrim. If you give up now, the March-warden of Lothlórien will be dead within the week. With his world falling apart at his feet, your twin will also be tempted by my halls and he will never regain the Throne of Gondor. With his fall, the rest of your people will truly become the forgotten wanderers of the north.
"NO!" yelled Dídauar standing up. "I am one person. Yes I maybe a leader of the Dúnedain but of the last eighty-eight years, I have spent no more than twenty-five years serving them! I may call them my people but my treks across the world speak an entirely different story. I am called Faerlain and Sadorennor for a reason! It is not me that they need, it is Halbarad. He is the one that has been there for them through everything. They need Tarondor, Beleg, Pethurin. Warriors that have been with them, fighting for them not running at every opportunity. Who bore their Star with pride rather than shying away from even carrying the symbol of the very people they are supposed to lead!"
Yet still they flock to your banner, said Námo. They readily pick up a weapon and fight for, and with, you and it is not just your people that I speak of. Light you are called, both in the language of old and that of the new. Yes, you are a single note in the song of your world but for many people, without you all that exists is a collection of notes.
"I am not that important," replied Dídauar sitting down once more. Námo crouched before her and tilted her head up so that their eyes met.
You are very important. To a lot of people. Dúnedain, Gondorian, Rohirrim, Eldar. They are all desperately seeking hope this night. Return to them now and give them that.
"All I want is peace," whispered Dídauar. Námo smiled.
That I can grant you, he said, pulling her back to her feet.
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Dídauar blinked as she regained consciousness and gradually took in her surroundings as her vision cleared. There was still activity around her but mostly the staff of the Healing Houses were allowing their patients to sleep. The beds on all sides were filled by injured, yet peaceful, warriors and beside them was someone they knew, some sleeping, others holding a silent vigil. She had lost the use of one of her arms temporarily, though had seemed to have sprouted a second pair. Smiling, she rolled carefully on to her back – hissing as she jarred her shoulder – and ran the backs of her fingers over the tear stains on Aragorn's grime streaked face. Said Chieftain jerked at the touch and woke in an instant. Dídauar's smile widened as her brother regained his wits.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Kalya?" asked Aragorn in an equally quiet voice. Dídauar continued to smile and nodded. Aragorn released a laugh mingled sob and pulled Dídauar to him.
"You're alive!" he choked, burying his face in Dídauar's shoulder.
"I'm alive," replied Dídauar. Aragorn gave a relieved laugh and rolled onto his back, pulling Dídauar with him. Words were once again redundant, and the pain in Dídauar's shoulder was again ignored, as the twins nestled together and for the first time since before the Fellowship left Imladris, allowed their hearts to fully respond to the other's call.